A Hummingbird Tale
by Cassiopeia I of House Black
Summary: She was a hummingbird - fluttering breathlessly around the sacred, sunlit hallways of the old Wiltshire manor - dusky skin and pale locks, coloured like liquid gold. All sharp angles and rosy cheeks—she giggles, twirling around him in her periwinkle blue dress.


**DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the characters mentioned in the fanfic apart from 'Lyra'; all the rights belong to their rightful owners, e.g. J. K. Rowling.**

 **So this is my take on explaining few events - such as the Mckinnon family killed personally by Voldemort or both Prewett brothers' death, and especially, the one thing that never made sense to me, Lucius Malfoy handing the Diary of Tom Riddle to Ginevra Weasley. My PC is filled with short stories, personal headcanon and backgrounds of many characters. Specifically, i tried to construct a timeline for every single character - and when I find my courage - events too will be added. So, early on I was trying to stay canon compliant but I think I failed miserably at that.**

 **Enjoy.**

. . .

She was a hummingbird - fluttering breathlessly around the sacred, sunlit hallways of the old Wiltshire manor - dusky skin and pale locks, coloured like liquid gold. All sharp angles and rosy cheeks— _she giggles, twirling around him in her periwinkle blue dress._

 _The world was young and Lucius was unconquerable as he chased his eldest child, Lyra, laughing and grinning._

. . .

His daughter—Lucius blinked harshly—Lyra, she would've started her Fourth year alongside her brother's Second year. Another sip of his firewhisky and Lucius' vision blurred a little, whether from tears or from getting pissed, he did not know. He imagined her—something he'd always done when alone—having Narcissa's lips and his hair, as tall as him with her mother's charisma.

" _Lyra Andromeda Malfoy—" she'd introduce herself, with a graceful smile wielded like a sharp knife. "Heiress to the Sanctimonious House of Malfoy!"_

And Lucius didn't know what hurt more. The fact that he had lost her, or what would never be.

. . .

" _My lord!" Narcissa murmured, her dainty hand held in the palms of Lord Voldemort. "Please forgive—"_

" _Nonsense! Rise dearest Narcissa..." The Dark Lord, eternally handsome and undeniably cruel, smiled with whatever humanity he had left as his fingers stroked Narcissa's rosy cheeks. "Tell me, whatever you desire and you shall get it."_

 _Lucius and the other Death Eaters kept their head bowed, kneeling on the floor. From his side, Lucius could feel Bellatrix' agitation._

 _Narcissa smiled, cold and forbidding and every inch the Black child she was raised to be. In that moment, Lucius couldn't recognize his wife. In her place, there was a witch far more unforgiving than the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black. "The McKinnons — I want them dead!"_

" _Everyone?"_

" _From their youngest to their eldest—" snarled Narcissa._

 _And Voldemort smiled at her, "And you shall have it. Rise and join me, my faithful servants!"_

 _There was no remorse on Narcissa's face, not a twinge of sympathy for the children or the elderly._

 _As the Death Eaters surrounded their master, the Dark lord turned back to look at Narcissa, seated at the feet of his throne, and smiled at her with a somewhat tender expression. "I shall personally hand their hearts to you as they have taken yours!"_

 _. . ._

Emotions weren't something felt by the Black family, and much to Lucius' displeasure, it was something passed on to Draco – but Lyra was not like that. Lyra cried when she fell and skinned her knee. Lyra squealed and danced and sang to her heart's content.

Lyra shouted 'I love you, Pere!' through her giggles when Lucius tickled her.

Lyra was a Malfoy, not a Black.

. . .

" _PREWETT!" Evan Rosier roared, raising the severed head of Fabian Prewett high towards the heavens._

 _Gideon Prewett wailed, "Rosier!" and was preparing to hurl an unforgivable towards Evan's direction but he had dropped his guards. Lucius attacked from the right with a severe Crucio and watched as the ginger convulsed on the dirt._

 _His pureblood was mingling with filth and Lucius felt something akin to satisfaction swell in his chest. This was one of the four who killed his daughter._

 _There was no mercy left in him._

 _. . ._

Lucius went to the Dance Room, with its polished wooden floor dirty and the grand piano left to the corner to collect dust. The air was stale and heavy, and the sunlight barely filtered through the closed curtains.

The last time he'd taken a step into the room, he had Lyra in his arms and she was waving to Narcissa before they left to Diagon Alley.

Lyra had never returned with him and Lucius had taken to gazing into the room from beneath the arched doorway, engraved with gold and silver. He could almost see her before him, twittering around the spacious room. Her tiny feet running over the marble floor while her giggles echoed throughout the airy room. It was a picture of beauty - serenity – before Lucius' eyes. _Her smile alone was enough to rival the sun, Lyra burned swiftly like a starlight._

It's been so long since he felt that way.

— _there is an old picture, of Lyra and baby Draco, three and one respectively. It is the last one of them together and Draco had found it in his father's Study, hidden in an old priceless book. The mercurial children grinned childishly at the camera, their pale skin and platinum locks hallowed them by default. The picture brought tears to Draco's eyes as he thought of his older sister, forever trapped in a picture taken over a decade and he eleven years – and going to Hogwarts - and she three - entombed in Malfoy Crypts – and what hurt more, Draco somehow knew that his parents could never love him the way they loved their eldest child._

. . .

Lucius gazed at the decades old journal, electing sinister thoughts within him. It lay on his knee as he took another sip of his firewhisky, and he could almost feel the weight of young Tom Marvolo Riddle, hauntingly attractive. His fingers stroked the spine and Lucius thought of a redhaired girl, young and innocent and so ripe for corruption—

If Lucius did not have his Lyra, then Arthur shall not have his Ginevra.

— _somewhere in another world - Lyra would twirl before him, eternal and full of life, luminous and brilliant._

 _And Lucius – he would smile and dance with her to long forgotten hymns. The sun would burn brightly and Lyra would laugh, cheeks flushed rose-gold and eyes a dazzling shade of mercury._

 _His daughter would be alive._


End file.
